Fellow Flowerbed
by sickly and caged
Summary: After a car accident that gives her a brush with death, Lucy Amber finds herself rescued under circumstances she could have never possibly imagined. Suddenly plunged into a chaotic world of unimaginable magic and evil during Nesta's transformation into a fae woman, it becomes obvious that the Cauldron's power was not the only thing she accidentally took. Eventual Tamlin/OC
1. Submerge

Lucy Amber's final moments on Earth were spent driving in the rain.

It is only a minute upon entering her car that it begins; she probably should have heeded the angry patters against her window as a sign to not drive, but all Lucy wanted in those moments was to go home after a long day at work to her mother. It was with this longing that spurred her to take the short route home, up and around the mountain that overlooked the town's great lake. Even then, she knew it was stupid. Driving in the rain altogether was risky, but up that mountain slope was another. But the aching of her feet, her mother's smile, and her home's heater were great motivators in doing stupid, spur-of-the-moment things.

She sets the basket of fruit her boss, a kind elderly lady named Eliza who apparently had a ridiculous amount of fruit trees, had gifted her earlier that day. _For all your hard work, Lucinda,_ she had said. At first, she had refused it, despite how good it all looked, the collections of apples, oranges, pears, and grapes neatly arranged in the basket. Fruit was so expensive nowadays, Lucy and her mother rarely got to eat them. Waitressing at a bar every day and singing on Friday nights were far from hard work to Lucy; in fact, she rather enjoyed it. But Eliza had only shaken her head, explaining she had no grandchildren of her own to spoil, and that Lucy was the closest she'd probably ever get. She had almost caved then and there, but it was her comment that she could share it with her mother that truly pushed Lucy to accept it. _You told me your mother loved green apples, so I made sure to pack some extras!_

She drums her fingers against the steering wheel, listening to her phone's car playlist through her second-hand aux cord. It's a rather quiet night, the usually busy city devoid of much traffic. It made passing up the mountain range all the easier, as she carefully, _slowly,_ drove up the slopes of the mountain. She winces as a crack of thunder resonates outside, barely holding back a shriek. She grumbles to herself, struggling to see ahead of her as her little windshield wipers fought a losing battle against the rain.

"Dammit," She curses to herself, reaching across to the passenger seat to grab something from Eliza's fruit basket. A small snack for the ride wouldn't hurt.

She can't say for certain what happened after that. She remembers another crack of thunder, and suddenly losing control of the car. Fruit goes flying everywhere as her car spins out of control, and then, to Lucy's absolute horror, off the edge of the road, down the mountain, and into the lake below. The windshield cracks upon the impact, the windows of her car smashed from rolling down the mountain. She surges forward as the car makes contact with the lake's surface, her seatbelt painfully driving into her ribs and shoulder.

Her heart hammers in her ears, barely registering the gashes on her arms from shielding her face during the fall as she desperately claws at her belt buckle, desperate to escape, but it does little. She feels the water begin to pour into her car as it slowly sinks, her feet, then her legs, slowly but surely becoming submerged. She screams and cries, frantically pulling at the buckle as the water rises higher, and higher, and higher. She cries and shrieks, screaming for help, but it does nothing. No one was going to hear her over the rain and thunder. As she feels the water pool at her chin, she takes a few final gasping breaths, filling her lungs with as much air as possible, before her entire form is finally submerged in the water.

It is then that she realizes she is going to die here.

But she doesn't want to die here; not like this. There was so much more she had to do in this life. She thinks of her mother, wheelchair-bound yet so full of joy and life, Eliza's generosity, her neighbor's dog that she pets through the fence every day as she goes to work, her small circle of friends outside of work; so many things she lived for. She couldn't die here. And so, in a final effort to escape, she desperately reaches out the window, fingers searching for something - _anything_ \- to pull her out of the water. _Please, please, don't let me die here._ But there was nothing. Only water and nothingness.

But then, as her vision mercifully fades to black, her form finally going limp, she swears she feels someone grasp her outstretched hand.

* * *

Nesta Archeron is not a woman who shows fear.

She did show her fear when Thomas Mandray forcefully put his hands on her and tried to rip her dress open. She did not show her fear when she hired mercenaries to take her to the wall to find Feyre. She did not show her fear when she and her sister were kidnapped to be a bargaining chip in fae politics.

No, Nesta Archeron was not a woman who shows fear. She had learned to harness that weakness a long time ago, turn it into bitterness and fury, and _fight._

And she had never fought harder than in this moment, as two fae men dragged her towards the Cauldron. To be their test. To be a source of torture for her sister. To be turned into a fae.

She fights the whole way. She twists and turns in their grasp, the grip on her arms so hard she swears her bones will crack at any moment. She screams and growls, hissing in untamed fury. She kicks and flails, desperate to put up as much of a fight as possible. She would not go down without fighting. She would make them suffer as much as possible until the end.

She hears Elain crying. Feyre screaming. Cassian groaning in pain. It only makes her fight harder.

It is as her legs become submerged into the Cauldron's murky waters that she glances up and sees the smirking face of the King of Hybern. His sickly sweet smile, mirth dancing in his eyes at their suffering. At her suffering. At Elain's suffering. And in a final desperate attempt to fight back, she wretches one of her hands free from the fae man's grasp, and points her finger at him, promising death.

She will kill them for this. _She will make them all suffer for this._

That is her final thought as a human woman before she is shoved under the water.

But she does not stop fighting there. No, Nesta would fight until her dying breath. She twists and turns, arms frantically waving about. Her eyes sting as she opens them to the murky waters of the Cauldron, searching for something - _anything_ \- to help her. She feels the Cauldron's power surrounding her, entering her, but she keeps fighting. It only makes her fight harder, kicking and screaming, arms thrashing.

It is as she feels herself change that, in a final fight against the most powerful magical artifact in Prythian, she claws at the powers at work, and feels something rip open.

She isn't entirely sure what she had done, but it is a victory nonetheless. She surges herself forward, desperate to see what she had done to the Cauldron. Through the murky waters, she can faintly make out the outline of an outstretched hand, and that is all the motivation she needs. She reaches out, into whatever tear she had made into the Cauldron, and grasps it.

And as she pulled back up from the Cauldron, she does not let go.


	2. Impact

She was spluttering and choking before she even managed to open her eyes, her throat burning as she vomited up the water she had swallowed in the lake, her lungs desperate for air. She repressed a groan as she finished, because even finding the energy for _that_ was difficult; instead, she focused on trying to make out what was around her. It's a difficult thing to do, she quickly realizes, when her sight is still blurry from the water, and with so little surrounding light. So she simply lies there, confused, unsure of herself. What had happened to her? Where was she?

Then, it all came rushing back to her.

She was _alive._

Somehow, she had survived.

It was upon that revelation that her senses slowly come back to her, bit by bit. How wet she was, her clothes sticking to her cold, damp skin. How her body was tangled with another's, someone's hand still clutching her own; their grip was so incredibly strong, as though they were furious about something and attempting to release their anger out on her hand. She grunted at the feeling, and taking a few final gasps of air, before finally finding the strength to allow her eyes to focus on their surroundings.

Her first realization is that she isn't a hospital. No, the room around her was far too dark, the ground too hard, for that possibility to be true.

Her second is that she isn't at the car wreckage site, either. If she were outdoors, she would surely be able to feel the rain pattering against her body, which she doesn't. Not at all. Instead, there is only the cool air against her skin, and the feeling of several eyes on her all at once.

 _No,_ she realizes in horror as she looks around frantically, gut churning as her stale blue eyes took in the forms of the many unfamiliar faces around her and her savior, all looking as shocked as she felt. She definitely wasn't in a hospital or even at the car wreckage site; instead, she was in a strange room surrounded by even stranger people. Where a lake and a sunken car should have been, a cauldron sat, a puddle of murky liquid spilling from its contents, the light reflecting in the water. As she took in the rest of her surroundings, several things come to her at once.

One, she is surrounded by blood. Her breathing stops as her eyes focus on the thick, crimson pools of liquid slowly making its way across the room through the cracks in the stone.

Two, one of the men was clutching what appeared to be an arrow, of all things, in his rest; she could barely even register the other who was groaning in pain on the ground, with what looked to be human-sized _shredded bat wings_ lying limply on his back. The sanguine pools of blood originated from their wounds, she realized as bile rose in her mouth. She almost felt herself fall into hysterics at the sight of them - _why wasn't anyone doing anything to help them?_

Three, they were all dressed in _fantasy outfits._ Some in leather armor, some in gowns, others in what looked like garments fit for medieval nobility; and one of them was sitting on a _throne._

She would have screamed in terror if she had the energy, if her throat wasn't throbbing, her bones no longer aching and her lungs weren't burning. Instead, she lets her eyes frantically flash back to the woman whose hand is still clasped in her own, and finds her own shock mirrored in her savior's eyes. Lucy takes in her features, unable to speak, unable to do _anything_. The first thing she noticed about her is that she's beautiful. Stunningly so. This woman could easily give any supermodel a run for their money, with her golden-brown locks and plump lips, despite being soaking wet like Lucy. The second thing she notices as her eyes trail down her face is the gag tied harshly around her mouth, which Lucy would have tried to take off for her if she could simply lift her arms. The third is her ears, delicately pointed at the tips; she feels a jolt of dread at how realistic they look.

"Odd," A cold, masculine voice interrupts her reverie, " _That_ wasn't supposed to happen."

The man's words seem to snap everyone out of their own surprise. The room suddenly explodes with several voices talking over each other at once, some whispering, some shouting, all their eyes set straight on the pair. There are murmurs amongst a group of women by the side of the room, eyes appraising Lucy as though she is some kind of alien. Their stares make her feel even more uncomfortable, more panicked, than she already is. Seeing everyone else as confused as she feels doesn't help to extinguish her own hysteria; it only ignites it further.

 _What the hell was going on?_

She barely had a chance to register who is speaking before the woman's face beside her contorts into fury, the shock leaving her eyes as everyone else's voices sound throughout the room. Eyes blazing, the woman turned her head frantically, setting her furious gaze upon a woman - the one who was crying, Lucy realizes - cradled in the arms of a man with fiery red hair, several scars dragging down his left eye, where she swears she sees the glint of metal where his eye should be.

A snarl rips her out of her thoughts, and for a moment she thinks there is an animal in the room with them before realizing it is the woman next her that had made such a ferocious sound. So ferocious, in fact, that a hush falls throughout the room. Uncurling her fingers from Lucy's, she is suddenly on her feet, eyes set on the pair, almost tripping along the way as she rips the gag from her mouth, and slams herself right into the man who had been holding the woman.

"Get off her!" She screamed at him, grabbing hold of the girl, who, now that Lucy saw them closer together, looked to be her sister, her golden hair and eyes matching her savior's. "Elain, Elain, Elain," she sobbed openly, her hands rushing over the woman's - Elain's - form as she kept her upright.

Elain wasn't looking at her, however. Her eyes were taking in the man who had been holding her, him doing the same to her. It is only a breath later that he utters the words, "You're my mate."

Lucy has no idea what that sentence means, but it only seems to anger the woman further, as she suddenly reels at him once more and shoves him, hissing, "She is no such thing!"

She barely had time to consider what on earth they are talking about before a new voice - the man who had first spoken, she realizes - rings throughout the room. "Interesting. So very interesting."

He doesn't pay attention to the trio for long, however, because only a few moments later, his eyes trail back to Lucy, tilting his head at her. She finds herself uneasy from being the focus of his attention; even from so far away, as he lazily sits upon his throne, she knows deep within her gut there is something wrong, something sinister about him.

"Bring the girl to me. I want to have a closer look," he finally says, and she feels her heart fall to her feet.

His words rattle her to her bones. As she feels rough hands suddenly grasp her arms, she finally finds her voice, shouting in indignation despite her throat burning in protest. "What the hell? Let me go!" She finally finds her words, digging her heels desperately in the ground to slow them.

It does little to stop them though, because before she can even think of how to fight back further, she is unceremoniously dropped to the ground just feet away from the man - a king, perhaps? - and is unable to hide from his gaze, which is nothing short of both sinister and curious.

He was quick to make his way towards her, appearing in no rush as he bends down to her level and harshly grips her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his. She feels a fear, paralyzing and blazing, ignite under his foreboding gaze. He hums, squeezing her cheeks so tight she feels tears spring at the corners of her eyes. He only chuckles in delight at her discomfort. Her fear, even for a small moment, melts away quicker than ice to an inferno at his patronizing laugh, and forces herself to twist and turn, shaking her head vigorously in a poor attempt to get him to let go of her face.

"Just what did the hellcat drag out with her?" He muses to himself, whatever the hell _that_ means, before dropping her to the floor and waving his hand, "We'll deal with you later."

He stands up to his full height again, eyes trailing over towards the group of regal-looking woman that had been murmuring to themselves minutes before. "See? I showed you not once, but twice that it is safe. Just be sure not to drag anything back out with you. Perhaps you'll get a handsome fae lord as your mate, too."

Once more, she found herself paralyzed in fear from the encounter as the women gaze meaningfully at each other, some even trailing their eyes over the several men assembled in the room. Appraising, assessing, as though they are ripe for their taking.

Before they can even reply, however, a new voice rings throughout the room. "Perhaps if you're so willing to make bargains," she turns her head to see a man, as beautiful as everyone else in the room with eyes the color of a vibrant violet, rising to his feet and tugging a young woman who closely resembled Elain and her unnamed saviour with him, "perhaps I'll make one with you."

"Oh?" Her former assailant asks, raising a curious eyebrow at him.

The man only shrugs his shoulders, yet before he could even begin to reply, the woman by his side drops to her knees, gnashing her teeth and letting out a wail. Lucy winces at the scream, at how pained she sounded. She brings her hands up to her scalp to pull at her hair, shaking her head as the man reached for her. Yet before he could -

The room exploded in light.

There was no other way Lucy could describe it. It originated from the woman, a sudden eruption of rich, luminous light throughout the entire room. Lucy recoiled at it, open-mouthed and gawking, just as everyone else.

 _What is going on what is going on what is going on -_

She doesn't have time to panic, however. The sudden light that blinds the room is the distraction she needs, as she frantically backs as far away from her assailant as she can, only stopping when she feels her fingers brush the hem of a dress and blood coat her hands. She looked behind her to find the pitying eyes of a woman whose blonde hair shone in the light, as beautiful as all the others in the room, staring down at her; it only takes Lucy a glance to her side to realize, with absolute horror, that she had backed straight into the woman and the pair of wounded men, their blood coating her hands and legs.

"Get behind me," she whispers gently, quickly reaching down to grasp Lucy's arm and pull her behind her; she had never been so thankful to anyone in her life. It seemed no one had noticed she had scurried off to the other side to the room, as everyone's attention had shifted to the woman who had been the center of that blinding light, who now wore an expression of pure confusion and shock that Lucy had felt upon waking up.

By the time she returns her attention back to the other woman - Feyre, she briefly hears someone calls her - she has backed away from them, stumbling into the arms of a man whose golden blonde hair framed his face, dressed in warrior's leathers. He holds her close to him, breathing her name as though she were precious air. The woman - Feyre, Lucy reminded herself - sobbed brokenly in his arms, murmuring the words _don't let him take me, I don't want to go back._

She risked a glance at the man _Feyre_ had been so desperate to get away from, as the woman whose skirts she had been shielded by bent over to help the man whose back was decorated with blood and shredded bat wings up. Checking that he was alright, she sends her attention to the same man Lucy was so previously focused on, and wearing an expression of horror and hatred, spat out, "What did you do to that girl?"

In response, he simply cocks his head at the other woman, not once taking his eyes off her, and purrs, "How did you do it, Feyre?"

She seemed to ignore him, turning to man whose arms enveloped her protectively, then to the redhead. Seeing the careful suspicion on their faces, she turns to the one on the throne, and says, "Break the bond."

She watched as the man's violet eyes widen in horror, uttering a breathless _no_ as Feyre storms up to the throne, dropping to her knees, "Break the bond. The bargain, the—the mating bond. Rhys—he made me do it, made me swear it—"

"No," the man - Rhys, she realizes his name is - breathes again. But no one listened.

"Do it," she continued to beg, "I know you can. Just— free me. Free me from it."

" _No,_ " he repeated, still as death.

She turned to the one whose arms are still wound around her - her real lover? Lucy doesn't know, she is so _lost_ , so _confused_ \- and gently says, "No more. No more death—no more killing. No more. Take me home and let them go. Tell him it's part of the bargain and let them go. But no more—please. No more." She pauses for a few moments, seeming to let the words sink in, before finally finishing, "Take me home."

His eyes, deep green flecked with gold, turned to the man lounging on his throne, decision made. "Let them go, break her bond, and let's be done with it. Her sisters -" He pauses for a moment, eyes scanning the room before making eye contact with Lucy herself. Something shifts in his expression - sympathy, cold and calculating as it was, she realizes - as he continues, " - and the girl come with us. You've already crossed too many lines."

In response, the man on his throne, the one who truly seemed to be in control of the situation, simply chuckled. As though this were all a _game_ to him. She feels another wave of fury and dread rush through her, rattling her very bones. "Very well. The sisters are yours. That girl, however, is _mine_." Lucy shrinks at his words, gripping the skirts of the woman in unparalleled fear. His eyes find hers despite her hiding place, and only seems to find further delight at her obvious panic. His lips curl up in a sadistic smirk, the action causing a wave of nausea to hit her.

 _This isn't happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening._

Her mind enters fight or flight mode, her panic overtaking her. "I- I'm not going _anywhere_ with you," she whispers without even thinking, uncaring at how her voice trembled. She was only glad she had managed to even get the words out of her mouth.

He only grins further, vicious and hellish. "We'll see."

The man beside her, his blood having formed a small a pool around her from his shredded back, growled at his words. Lucy couldn't help but indistinctively crawl closer to him in fear of the king on his throne, who continued to look at her as though he wished to dissect her.

"No. Feyre-" At the sound of Rhys' voice, the attention shifts back to him, his voice nothing short of absolutely broken. The king's gaze leaves her, and for that, she is grateful.

Yet before he can continue, the other man turns his eyes to him, fury, wrath, an animalistic rage lining his expression, and sneers, "I don't give a _shit_ if she's your mate. I don't give a shit if you think you're entitled to her. She is mine—and one day, I am going to repay every bit of pain she felt, every bit of suffering and despair. One day, perhaps when she decides she wants to end you, I'll be happy to oblige her."

Yet Rhys' expression didn't waver from Feyre. "Don't."

The other man simply put his hands on her shoulders, his gaze shifting to the king. "Do it."

" _No_ ," Rhys said again, voice breaking.

Yet it did not stop the king, who seemed only amused by the quarrel unfolding, from pointing a single finger at the woman, and causing her to scream.

It all happened so _fast,_ so _quickly_. The blonde who had protected her only minutes before suddenly lunged for the one named Rhys, holding him as he panted on the floor, fingers curling and uncurling, as though to stop him from lunging at the king. After a few seconds, she let go, and he didn't hesitate to crawl in their direction - the direction of his wounded comrades - not batting an eyelash as blood splattered on his hands and arms.

The kind waved a lazy hand at him, "You are free to go, Rhysand. Your friend's poison is gone. The wings on the other, I'm afraid, are a bit of a mess." His eyes turn to Lucy, huddled beside the man whose back still oozed with blood, and said, "You, girl, will come with me."

When she made no move towards him, he merely sighed, and made a vague gesture with his hand to three men beside him who vaguely resembled guards. "Go, collect my prize."

Terror overtakes her at the word _prize._

 _This is a nightmare. This is just a bad dream. I'm going to wake up, please let me wake up._

But even she could not ignore the reality of her situation; how cold she was, the feeling of blood on her hands, the all-consuming terror inside her. How her head throbbed, how her gut clenched at every wave of panic.

No, this was all very, very real.

She searches for a door, a window, any way to escape, and almost cries out in misery when she realizes every possible escape route is guarded. In her desperation, her eyes snap to the man beside her, to the one who still clutched the hole in his chest, to the woman, and finally, to the one named Rhys. " _Please_ ," she begged, voice breaking. She could feel the tears of terror running down her cheeks. "Don't let him take me!" She didn't know why she was asking them for help, didn't know what they could possibly do to help her; three of them were wounded, after all. She didn't even _know_ them. But when she risks another glance at the king, who stared at her with sick delight at her frenzied hysteria, she decided that anywhere would be better than going with him.

The woman risks a glance at Rhys, her eyes sympathetic, compassionate. Lucy watches in horror as the guards approach them, ready to comply with their king's command.

" _Please!_ " She looks around the room, desperate, to anyone that would possibly help her, to the blonde man who had looked at her with cool pity only moments before, to the woman in his arms, to her savior, to the redhead, _anyone_ , yet no one made a move. She lets out a broken sob, unashamed at how pathetic she sounded. Realizing no one had any intention of helping her, she hangs her head, feeling cold, cruel submission overtake her body. Yet in her misery, she failed to notice Rhys turning to the woman, and giving her a simple nod. A command. An order to attack.

And in that moment, she disappears into thin air, leaving mist and smoke in her wake.

Tears still running down her cheeks, Lucy lets out a scream of surprise at the sudden movement, the sudden mist and smoke that blew lightly in the wind where she once stood; she doesn't know any other way to describe it. Suddenly she was there, staring at Lucy with tender eyes, and the next she was gone, across the room to her savior and the one named Elain, slamming away the redhead who stood protectively over Elain with a simple palm to the chest. Before anyone could even react, she reaches her hands out and grasps the two girls' arms, vanishing once more.

A roar resonated throughout the room, shaking the very walls with its fury, but Lucy doesn't pay attention. She stands there, eyes widened in shock, unable to even comprehend that she had literally teleported; something only _optical illusionists_ could do. Yet before anyone else could spring into action, she felt an arm envelope her side, pushing her towards the man whose back still bled. She realized with unabashed shock that the man, Rhys, had collected them both and the other in his arms, and then -

Nothing.

Nothing but mist and smoke.


	3. Asylum

Her knees immediately gave out as she felt her feet touch the ground again, stomach lurching painfully. This time, it wasn't the feeling of a stone floor that greeted her palms as she stumbled over, but hardwood instead. For a moment, her senses remained completely blank, the only thing truly registering in her mind being the astounding discomfort and pain. Despite that, she briefly recognized the taste of copper in her mouth, the feeling of blood still on her hands, and most significantly, the sound of a woman cursing. Lucy managed to lift her head up to see where the sound had come from, her eyes immediately falling upon a woman, startlingly beautiful like everyone else she had seen thus far. She was short, around Lucy's height, with chin-length black hair framing her angular face. These characteristics were all easy to take in stride; it was her strange silver eyes, which looked like smoke was swirling around within her irises, that unnerved her to the core. Especially when those eyes set upon her. Everything within her being told her to run when her eyes landed on her form, and she would have if she could just _stand up._

Her eyes left Lucy - much to her own relief - to fall into action, instantly kneeling by their sides, hands gently skimming the man's bat wings. "Where is she? And who is this?" She demanded, her tone oddly calm, yet impatient. Her eyes turned to the violet-eyed man, questioning, but he wasn't listening; if anything, he seemed on the brink of losing his composure. Lucy watched as he clenched and unclenched his hands, as his breathing quickened and slowed, as his eyes glazed over and focused again. She understood those movements, movements she had seen others and herself do in a state of barely-contained panic. Movements she was doing right now, she realizes, as she unclenched her own fists, the feeling of her nails digging painfully into her palms finally registering.

After a few tense moments, as no one else dared to speak, he suddenly straightened. "Get the book out of here." He ordered, ignoring the woman's questions. She, in turn, seemed to ignore his words.

"Where is she?" She repeated, impatience leaking into her tone as she pressed a hand to the man's back again. He only hissed in pain in response. As if on cue, the blonde-haired woman reappeared, dropping to the floor in obvious exhaustion. Lucy couldn't help but jump back from her sudden appearance, still unsure of how the hell she was able to do _that._

 _I'm dreaming. This is a hallucination. I'm in a coma from drowning. I've gone crazy._

She would gladly take any of these options rather than this being a reality. This reality, where a woman could somehow teleport, where a man laid before her with shredded bat wings attached to his back, and where a man who was still breathing despite the arrow in his chest. But as the skin on her lip broke from gnawing at it between her teeth, as her muscles cried in agony every time she moved... there was no ignoring this pain, no ignoring the reality of this situation.

She was interrupted from her internal breakdown by the feeling of warm blood splattering across her torso and face, realizing in horror that the blonde woman had literally _ripped_ the arrow from the man's chest, causing blood to splatter everywhere across the carpet and herself. She almost gagged in repulsion, but the feeling of shock overtook it as the woman shoved her fingers over the wound, light suddenly flaring from her fingers and seeming to bring the once-broken bone and flesh back together.

Lucy wanted to _scream._ She was so lost, so confused, so _tired._ She had so many questions, yet her fear tied her tongue. Fear of, for a lack of better word, the magic that she was witnessing, the horrors she had just witnessed, the unfamiliarity of these complete strangers.

There was silence for a few moments, and when it became clear the man - Rhys, she reminded herself - wasn't going to speak, the blonde did for him. "Tamlin offered passage through his lands and our heads on platters to the king in exchange for trapping Feyre, breaking her bond, and getting to bring her back to the Spring Court. But Ianthe betrayed Tamlin—told the king where to find Feyre's sisters. So the king had Feyre's sisters brought with the queens—to prove he could make them immortal. He put them in the Cauldron. We could do nothing as they were turned. He had us by the balls. One of the sisters -" Her eyes flashed to Lucy, and she can't help but shrink away from her gaze, "- pulled out the girl with her. None of us know how. The king wanted to take her, but we managed to get her before him."

Quicksilver eyes turn to Lucy as the woman ends her speech, appraising. Lucy stays completely still, unsure of what else she's supposed to do. When she finished, she turns to the one named Rhys. "That doesn't explain where Feyre is."

This time, Rhys manages to reply, "We were out of options, and Feyre knew it. So she pretended to free herself from the control Tamlin thought I'd kept on her mind. Pretended that she … hated us. And told him she'd go home—but only if the killing stopped. If we went free."

 _Wait, she was pretending?_ Lucy thought to herself, desperately trying to understand the situation she had been dragged into. The black-haired woman, however, doesn't even pause in her line of questioning. "And the bond?"

 _What the hell is she talking about?_ Lucy idly thought as the blonde replied, "She asked the king to break the bond. He obliged."

"That's impossible," she shot back. "That sort of bond cannot be broken."

"The king said he could do it."

"The king is a fool," she barked. "That sort of bond cannot be broken."

The blonde opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Rhys spoke. "No, it can't," he closes his eyes for a moment, as though clearing his head, before continuing, "The king broke the bargain between us. Hard to do, but he couldn't tell that it wasn't the mating bond."

 _What is going on what is going on what are they talking about I just want to go home -_

The blonde started, as though in shock. "Does—does Feyre know—"

"Yes," he breathed. "And now my mate is in our enemy's hands."

"Go get her," the other woman hissed. "Right now."

" _No._ " He takes another deep breath before continuing, "Weren't you listening to what Feyre said to him? She promised to destroy him—from within."

Lucy watches as the blonde's face pales, the light in her hands flaring. "She's going into that house to take him down. To take them all down."

He only nodded. "She is now a spy—with a direct line to me. What the King of Hybern does, where he goes, what his plans are, she will know. And report back."

"She's your mate," The silver-eyed woman bit out. "Not your spy. Go get her."

"She is my mate. And my spy," he said too quietly. "And she is the High Lady of the Night Court."

"What?" The blonde whispered.

"If they had removed her other glove, they would have seen a second tattoo on her right arm. The twin to the other. Inked last night, when we crept out, found a priestess, and I swore her in as my High Lady."

"Not—not consort," one of the women breathed; Lucy couldn't tell who, since her mind was too busy reeling to truly comprehend who was speaking. _Mate. Tamlin. Spy. King of Hybern. High Lady. Night Court._ She didn't understand these words, didn't understand their depth and meaning, didn't understand anything they were saying. _She was so lost._

 _God, she just wanted to go home._

"Not consort, not wife. Feyre is High Lady of the Night Court."

There is only silence for a few moments; everyone in the room comprehending his words. "You mean to tell me," the blonde breathed, "that my High Lady is now surrounded by enemies?" Lucy shuddered in fear as she watched a lethal sort of calm overtake her beautiful features.

"I mean to tell you," he began, but stops as his eyes land on the two men who were lying limply on the floor. Unconscious, Lucy realizes. Whatever the two woman were doing with that strange light from their hands, it was helping, as the bleeding slowed and blood clots slowly began to form. She looked away, unable to stomach the gruesome sight for too long.

"I mean to tell you," he begins again, steeling himself, "that your High Lady made a sacrifice for her court—and we will move when the time is right."

"Until then? What of the Cauldron—of the Book?" she stops for a moment, her eyes trailing over to Lucy, who had remained a short distance away from the group, "Of this girl?"

It seemed that with her words, they all realized she was there, all eyes suddenly on her. She felt her body curl into itself, still in shock of everything that had happened the past few hours. Still deathly afraid of these people.

"Until then," Rhys replied, his eyes not leaving hers, "we go to war."

The black-haired woman lets out a huff at his words, but Rhys ignores her. Instead, he began striding towards Lucy, both wariness and curiosity lining his features. She can't help but back away from him, fear striking her heart at his every step.

"Don't—Don't come near me." She wished she could say her voice sounded fierce, determined, unafraid, but _that_ would be a blatant lie. No, her voice shook with fear, unparalleled and clearer than day. She seemed to sound pathetic enough because he actually _stopped,_ slowly raising his hands as a sign of peace.

"I'm not your enemy." That was as all he said, and it did very little to convince her. Not when she was so confused, so cold, so lost, so _tired._

Not when she was supposed to be _dead,_ but instead found herself in some kind of Tolkien book.

"Where—Where am I? Who are you? Who are all these people? _Please_ , I don't understand—" she couldn't say anything more, for her breathing became labored and erratic, her heart hammering painfully in her chest and eyes stinging as she struggles to keep them open through the sudden tears. She doesn't care how pathetic she looks or sounds in that moment; no, all she cares about in those painful moments is understanding _what the hell was happening to her._

There's a pause for a few moments, the only sound in the room being her pathetic hiccups and labored breathing. Then, finally, "You are in Prthyian, specifically in the Night Court. My land. My name is Rhysand," the sound of Rhys' voice forces her to look back up at him, and is surprised to find his expression both grim and gentle. "Over there is Morrigan—" he nodded towards the blonde woman, who is watching the scene unfold with empathetic eyes, "— and Amren," he then inclined his head towards the black-haired woman, who was watching her with critical eyes. Lucy wished the ground would swallow her up with how intently she stared at her.

"I—I don't know where Prythian is. Or a Night Court." She manages to gasp out, her arms creeping around her sides in an attempt to warm up.

Rhys only eyes her carefully. "Where are you from, then?" He asks, slowly making his way towards her and kneeling to her level on the floor. This time, she doesn't try to back away. She was too exhausted to even do that.

"I'm from Jacksonville." She replied. At his blank stare, she continues, "Florida. America?"

Her stomach drops to the floor as he only shakes his head at her. "I've never heard of those lands before." He sends a glance towards Amren's way, to which she only shook her head. His frown only deepened further.

Silence stretched over the room for a long moment, until a new voice spoke up. "What is your name?" Lucy looked up to see that it was the blonde - Morrigan - who had spoken to her, her eyes gentle and calming. She found herself immediately trusting the woman; whether that be because she helped her back then at that awful place, or because of her gentle eyes, she couldn't tell.

"Lucy. My name's Lucy." She replied, and for the first time, her voice doesn't shake. Morrigan only gives her a small smile in response, but it's all the comfort she needs.

Rhys opened his mouth to speak, but before the words could escape, the doors to the room sudden lurch open, revealing an elderly woman with dark skin, plain robes adorning her body. At the sudden entrance of _another_ stranger, Lucy lurches away, but none of them pay her any mind.

"Madja." Morrigan said, relieved as the light slowly faded from her hands, mirroring Amren. The pair stood away from the two men, clearly exhausted. Well, Morrigan appeared to be. Amren looked immaculate compared to the rest of them.

Madja, in response, wore an expression of horror as she quickly made her way over to the group, her movements becoming more panicked with each step. She knelt beside the man with shredded wings, hands reaching out as though to inspect the damage. "I need to get them someplace more permanent. This is going to take a while to fix." She turned to Rhysand as she spoke, her expression grim, mirroring his own. He only nodded in response.

"The House of Wind. We'll take them there." Rhys decided, then turning to her, "We'll bring you as well."

She isn't entirely sure what she's supposed to say to that, so she only nods in response. "Thank you." She whispers quietly, but she's sure he heard her.

He only gave her a short nod in response. "I know you still have questions; we do too. But there are other matters we need to deal with first." His eyes lingered on the two males as he spoke, and she instantly understood.

Lucy couldn't help the twinge of pity that churned in her gut at his words; at how much they were all hurting. "I... I understand."

She did, in a way, understand. She didn't understand her surroundings, what was going on, but she did understand their suffering. Their need to look after their comrades, to help them before dealing with anything else. Her mother's face flashes in her mind at the thought, her throat becoming tight at even thinking about her. Their concern and love; these things, she understood.

Rhysand gives her a final nod, then turning to the blonde. "Morrigan, look after her in the meantime." A command, gentle but firm. The woman only inclined her head in response, making her way over to Lucy as Rhysand placed a hand on one of the man's arms, disappearing into mist and smoke like they had back in _that_ place. Shortly after, the woman, Madja, does the same with the other, Amren following shortly after with a final glance in Lucy's direction.

As they depart, the only remaining pair glance at eachother, both unsure how exactly to approach the other. Morrigan, clearly the braver of the two, slowly approached Lucy, careful not to startle her as she knelt to her level upon the floor, proceeding holding out a hand to her. Lucy only stared at it for a few moments, unsure if she is entirely ready to... _teleport_ again. "How exactly do you do this?" She decided to ask in a poor attempt to put off the inevitable.

Morrigan only smiled. "It's called winnowing. It won't hurt you." She replied, voice as calming and gentle as before, and it is all the comfort Lucy needs. Tentative, almost shyly, she placed her hand, blood-stained and clammy, into Morrigan's. She closed her eyes in uneasy anticipation as she does, yet before she can even brace herself for what is about to come -

They were already gone.

* * *

She didn't collapse like the last time, mostly due to Morrigan helping her upright as their feet landed upon a polished marble floor. This time, Lucy was actually coherent enough to absorb her surroundings, and immediately found herself letting a gasp of sheer awe escape her lips.

The wind gently tousled her hair, almost as though it were welcoming her, as she realized they were standing upon a broad balcony that looked almost golden due to the combined light of the lanterns below and the breathtaking starlight above. Below them, they overlooked a city, spreading across the land as far as Lucy's eyes could see; it didn't take her very long to realize that this place - a palace born from a mountain, she decided to call it - was upon the edge of a mountain, build within and around it. Behind them, the interior of it seemed to beckon her in as two glass doors revealed a surprisingly casual dining room carved from the mountain's very stone, accented with rich wood, with each chair around the dining table designed to accommodate what she could only guess to be wings. A vision of the man's broken bat wings flashed through her vision at the thought.

"Welcome to Velaris," Morrigan's voice pulled her back to reality, her features, a mixture of both warm and somber, highlighted by the night's starlight.

Lucy couldn't think of much to say except gasp out an awe-filled, "It's beautiful."

Because it _was_ beautiful. The most beautiful thing she had ever seen, she dared to say. The way the starlight, brighter than any night sky she had ever witnessed, lightened the view around them, the way mountains overlooked the city, almost protectively lurching over it, the way the city looked like a night sky itself with its vibrant lights from her vision upon the balcony. Lucy had never seen anything like it before, and doubted she ever would in the future.

Morrigan only laughed silently at her wonderment, beckoning her inside the mountain. "It is. Maybe when things have quieted down a bit, you'll get to see more of it. But for now," She held her hand out to Lucy; an invitation, she realizes, "For now, we're all exhausted. I'll show you to a room, and get some servants to draw you a bath. We'll all talk in the morning."

Lucy couldn't help but shiver in delight at the thought of a warm bath, of washing the day's events off her. Some small part of her prayed that this was all a nightmare, and that she would wake up in her own bed after she passed out.

"That sounds great," Lucy replied, giving Morrigan a shy smile as she allowed her to lead them out of the dining room, and into a hallway, a brilliant light that shined overhead drawing them further in.

They walked in silence for a most of their walk moments, Lucy unable to even speak as she drank in the sights around her, admiring the pieces of artworks and murals that lined the mountain's hallways. Morrigan didn't speak either, only focusing on leading Lucy further and further into the interior of the palace, before finally stopping at a pair of doors. "Here we are," She opened one of the doors and peeked into the room, a small smile gracing her lips as she lead Lucy inside, "It looks like the servants were already here; Rhys must have sent them. They've drawn you a bath and left some clothes on the bed for you."

The room is similar to the rest of the interior of the palace; extravagant, yet oddly cozy at the same time. She takes a moment to look around the room; a stone-carved room accentuated with rich wood furniture, similar to the dining room. But her eyes are far more focused a plush bed she couldn't wait to fall into and a tub of filled to the brim with water.

Morrigan only gave her a small smile at her clear relief. "I'll leave you to it. A servant will come by in the morning to wake you," There was a short pause, but then, "I'm... sorry for what happened to you."

Lucy hadn't expected those words, and was stunned into silence by them. Morrigan seemed to take that as a dismissal, and turned to leave. The sound of her heels clicking away dragged her back to reality, and before she even had any time to think of what she was actually going to say, she blurted out, "Wait!"

Morrigan paused, slowly looking behind her shoulder to Lucy with a raised eyebrow. She quickly composed herself, clearing her throat and mind as she struggled to string the words together. "Thank you, Morrigan... for helping me. I don't know where I'd be right now if you hadn't protected me... back there."

At her words, Morrigan's curious expression melts into one of pure tenderness. "You're welcome."

The pair shared a final smile, one of mutual understanding, before the woman goes to leave, but quickly paused. "Oh, and Lucy?"

Lucy, halfway through the door into the room, quickly poked her head out to meet the woman's kind gaze. At her inquisitive eyes, Morrigan only beams, the exhaustion and sadness leaving her expression if only for a moment.

"Call me Mor."

* * *

i. love. mor. to. BITS. seriously, she's such a fav. next chapter, we get around to meeting elain and nesta, and finally get some answers, so look forward to that! until then, i'd love to hear your thoughts! it makes my day every time i hear from one of you guys!


	4. Grief

Waking up once more and realizing she was still here was an awful feeling.

Of course, deep down, shackled underneath her desperation to get home, she was thankful. Thankful for the plush bed she got to sleep on, for the sanctuary she had been given, for being saved by that awful man... but god, did it hurt to wake up and feel your heart sink knowing you weren't home, no matter how much you wished you were.

For a long time, she only laid there, staring at the canopy, thinking to herself. Not the wisest choice, given how unstable she was from the past few hours, but there was nothing else for her to really do except contemplate; exploring without the comforting presence of Morrigan - no, Mor, she had asked Lucy to call her - was an endeavor she wasn't willing to take just yet. Not when she could still feel that man's - what had Mor called him? The King of Hybern, that was right - fingers grip her chin, forcing her to look into his eyes, those awful depths of sadism and spite. She felt a shiver overtake her body at just thinking about him.

So many questions swirled around her head, impatient and desperate for answers. _What was this place? How could those people do that... magic? How was she even here?_ But most importantly, _how was she going to get sent home?_ She forced the lump forming in her throat and the dampness of her eyelids away at the thought of what the answers to those questions could possibly be.

A knock on the door startled her from her incoming mental breakdown, a woman whose every aspect of her was so entirely dark that Lucy could only describe her as mist and smoke, like she had been plucked right out of the void, poked her head into the room. A small smile was her greeting, stepping into the room as another woman, identical to the first, followed immediately after. Lucy sat up at their arrival, blinking several times as she thought she was seeing twins of things; but no, there they were, real as... well, real as things could be in this place.

"Er... hello," she hesitantly greeted, swinging her legs to the side of the bed and standing, swaying on her feet lightly. Trying not to appear entirely rattled by their sudden appearance, she slowly approached them, stopping as she came face-to-face with the pair.

The twins both gave her a charming smile in response, their movements and facial expressions unnervingly mirrored. "Good morning, my lady. Cerridwen and I are here to prepare you for the day, and escort you to High Lord Rhysand. He thought you would wish to meet with him as soon as possible," one of the twins explained, their voices strangely gentle and soothing, similar to Mor's. Lucy couldn't help but sag her shoulders in relief to the news that she would be getting answers as soon as possible, glad she didn't have to remain alone with only her thoughts for company.

"Thank you so much. Um... where do I...?" She trailed off, unsure how to continue. How did the people bathe here? From what she had seen, their technology seemed to be very little; was there a communal bathhouse?

The one named Cerridwen only gave an understanding smile, sweeping her across the room where the other had pulled a tub from god-knows-where, flicking her wrist and filling it to the brim with water. Lucy couldn't help but let out a startled gasp at the display of magic, Cerridwen giggling lightly in her ear as she gently tugged on Lucy's nightgown she had changed into the night before.

"Oh, er, it's alright, I can undress myself," she said gently, stepping out of Cerridwen's grasp nervously. When the pair made no move to give her privacy, she didn't dare ask them to leave, scared of offending them, and shoved modesty to the back of her mind as she tugged her nightgown over her head and stepped into the water as quickly as she could, sinking into the tub as the water's warmth forced out a sigh of content from her.

She heard one of the twins kneel by her side, the sensation of some kind of oil being gently poured onto her head startling her for a moment, the feeling of fingertips massaging into her scalp quickly soothing the surprise away. She tried to focus on that feeling rather than the unpleasant memories that forced their way into her mind at being submerged in water once more, hugging her knees to her bare chest for a semblance of comfort. _It's just a bath, Lucy, you're not going to drown,_ was the mantra that kept her from jumping out of the tub as soon as she could.

The bath ended as quickly as it began, the other twin - Nuala, she thought she heard Cerridwen call her briefly - gently pulling her up and leading her out of the tub, the other enveloping her with a towel that soaked up the water so quickly Lucy would never have thought she'd even been wet. Usually, she would have been embarrassed by someone else's presence while she bathed, but there was something about the twins that made her at ease around them, despite their wraith-like appearance and movements. She simply chalked it up to the shock of everything.

They were halfway through helping her into a gown when a knock sounded at the door. The twins looked to each other, confusion written on their identical faces. One of them flittered to the door, her movements so fluid Lucy would have sworn she was levitating, opening it to reveal the familiar face of Mor, all smiles and grace as Nuala opened the door wider to allow her inside. She looked… exhausted, yet still retained all the beauty and elegance of a queen.

"Good morning, Lucy. I just came back from checking up on Nesta and Elain," she greeted, wincing to herself at the word _Nesta_. Smile quickly returning to her face, she sent a respectful nod towards the twins, "I can take it from here, Cerridwen, Nuala."

The twins bowed at her gentle command, the pair quickly disappearing out the door as Mor made her way over to Lucy's back to lace the half done-up dress the twins had previously been helping her into.

There was only comfortable silence for a few moments until Lucy fought up the courage to speak, "Nesta and Elain?" Elain, she remembered. The girl who her savior had attacked that red-headed man for, who quietly sobbed as the two held each other, refusing to let the other go.

Mor gave a start at her words, seemingly surprised. "Oh, you never got their names! Nesta was the one who…" she cleared her throat, obviously unsure if she should say the words or not, "Who pulled you out of the Cauldron. Elain is her sister, the one who was with her."

Nesta. The woman who had saved her from drowning was named Nesta.

"Oh," she responded, unsure what else to say. An image of those two injured men flashed in her mind, and before she could stop herself, Lucy found herself asking, "Those two men that were hurt. Are they okay?"

Mor's fingers paused at her back for a moment, a deep intake of breath sounding behind her. Lucy waited, unsure if she had upset her, until finally, "They're… recovering, which is more than I can ask for."

Guilt overtaking her at suddenly forcing those memories back onto her, Lucy immediately blurted out, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… bring the memories back up. I'm glad they're okay, though."

"Don't be sorry. It's the King of Hybern who should be sorry," Mor murmured lightly, ushering Lucy over to a chair by the vanity mirror. Grasping a hairbrush, she asked, "May I?"

Moved that she would ask permission before touching her hair, Lucy gently replies, "Sure, thank you. Go ahead."

Mor is gentle as she brushes her hair, tenderly combing the knots out of her chestnut locks. For a few moments, Lucy closes her eyes, imaging she is back home, a young girl during the tender age of eight as her mother gently combs her hair. The memory, once treasured and a source of comfort, now only makes her heart constrict painfully.

"All done," Mor gently announced, Lucy's now-brushed hair falling in small waves over her shoulders, fringe sweeping across her forehead. It was the one thing she actually liked about her hair: it was usually very cooperative.

She felt... refreshed, which was an odd emotion amongst all the other negative emotions swirling within her. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, taking comfort in the new feeling. Her skin, now pristine clean thanks to the scrubbing hangs of Cerridwen and Nuala and whatever soap they had used, felt soft against the modest dress she wore, enveloping her body as gentle as a cloud. She basked in the feeling, allowing the contentment to seep into her, flushing away her fear and apprehension, even if for only a few moments.

"Ready to go?" Mor asked, eyes meeting Lucy's in the mirror. She didn't need to elaborate to know who she was talking about.

She lets herself take one final, comforting breath, and nods to her through the reflection.

They walked in a comfortable silence down the hallway, similar to when Mor had first arrived in her room, Lucy's eyes roaming around in awe of how beautiful the House of Wind was. It was relatively quiet, occasionally passing servants who Mor smiled and graciously nodded to, the only real sound resounding through the halls being Lucy's footsteps; surprisingly, Mor didn't make any noise, even when walking. She chalked it up to some kind of… what were they, again? Fae, she remembered, briefly recalling the King of Hybern calling them so. Yes, it was probably a fae thing, she decided.

She had been so caught up in her own thoughts she almost walked right into Mor's back when they stopped walking, who had paused in front of a door. This was it, she realized. Glancing at Mor, she caught the woman staring at her in concern. "Are you ready?"

 _Not really,_ she thought _._ But Lucy was a relatively understanding girl, and she knew she was going to have to face these people sooner or later. So, instead of cowering in fear, she instead steeled her resolve, and nodded in response, giving Mor a hesitant smile to placate her. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"It's alright, we're not going to hurt you," Mor, sensing her clinging fear soothed her gently, reached to the door handle and twisted it, slowly opening the door to reveal the dining room she remembered from last night, Rhysand and the black-haired woman named Amren already seated, seemingly waiting for them. Lucy couldn't help the indistinctive gulp at seeing them once again.

Slowly, she approached the table, glancing behind her only to find Mor gone. Probably - what had she called it earlier? - winnowed somewhere, she decided. Awkwardly standing behind the seat on Rhysand's left at the head of the table, facing Amren, she stood there, fearfully waiting for the pair to give her permission to sit. The last thing she wanted to do was insult them with poor etiquette, after all.

Amren was the first to speak, clearly impatient. "We aren't going to eat you, girl. Sit."

"Amren," Rhysand warned, shooting her a glare that she only rolled her eyes at. "Please sit, Lucy."

Surprised he had actually remembered her name, she quickly set herself down on the chair, lacing her fingers together on her lap in nervousness. Unsure what else to say, she hesitantly started, "Thank you for taking me with you... back there."

She didn't dare look up to see the pair's facial expressions, but she could hear the soft gentleness in Rhysand's tone as he replied, "It's alright. We wouldn't have left you there."

Amren, however, didn't seem to have time for small talk. "Let us have these questions answered, then. Are we correct in assuming you are from another realm?"

Lucy, genuinely shocked she had hit the nail on the head so quickly, immediately straightened up, eager for answers. "Yes! Yes, I am. How did you...?"

"It was rather obvious. It's also not the first time such a thing has happened in this world," Amren sniffed, "Tell us, what magic caused you to pass through the Cauldron?"

Rhysand leaned forward in his seat, neatly folding his hands on the table as he did so, also eager to hear her answer. Lucy, however, furrowed her brows at the woman's words, "I was hoping you could answer that for me. Where I'm from, magic doesn't even exist. It's a myth."

The pair shared a short glance, seemingly surprised by this information, but didn't allow it to show on their faces. "What do you remember before passing through the Cauldron, then?" Rhys was the one who spoke this time, his eyes remaining curious.

Lucy shivered at the sheer memory of the car crash. At how the water stole the air from her lungs, how cold it had been, how her vision blurred and faded to black. "I drowned," she began, meeting the inquisitive eyes of Rhysand. "I was driving home from work. It was raining, so I decided to take the short route around the mountain. I... I lost control of the car, and fell into a lake. I couldn't get out, was stuck in there as the water kept rising. I..." She choked up, gasping for breath as she remembered; but she kept going, refusing to break down, "I remember reaching up, desperate for something to grab onto and pull myself to the surface. When I finally lost consciousness... I could've sworn I felt someone grasp my hand."

"Nesta," Rhysand breathed, understanding lining his tone. He had no clue what a car or driving was, but he understood enough to grasp what had happened; how she had come to be here.

"Perhaps..." Amren began, appearing in thought, "It seems that the Cauldron heard your cries for help, your desperation to live, and allowed Nesta to reach in and save you. It _pitied_ you."

Lucy's confusion was palatable at the woman's words. From what she had seen, the Cauldron was a tangible object, not a thing with consciousness. "It... _pitied_ me?"

Rhysand, detecting the confusion in her voice, quickly explained, "The Cauldron... we don't entirely understand it, but it with all the magic it contains, the raw power... it is certainly alive, to some extent."

Putting that information to the back of her mind, Lucy quickly changed the subject. "But you can send me back, right?" She asked, looking questioningly between the two. When neither of them answered, she repeated, "Right?"

Her stomach dropped to the floor as Rhysand shook his head at her, his expression almost pitying. "No one in Prythian contains that kind of magic, let alone Amren or myself."

"But the Cauldron sent me here, so it can send me back, _right?_ " She didn't care how desperate she sounded, she only cared about her need to get home, her need to see her mother again. She _couldn't_ be stuck here. Not now, not when she had so much left to do back in her own world.

Rhysand only shook his head at her once more. "The Cauldron is raw power, and also very unpredictable. If it didn't want to send you back, there's no telling what might happen to you if you went back in there," he sighed, looking away from her crestfallen expression. "Besides, the Cauldron is in Hybern's hands now, our enemy. You saw the King of Hybern yourself. He wouldn't let you go near it."

Despite his many warnings, she refused to give up just yet. "But I have to _try_. What are the chances of you getting the Cauldron back?"

"Slim. Slimmer than I want to admit."

Her mind whirled, thoughts spiraling out of control as she grasped at straws. "What if I snuck to it? Found a way to get in without anyone knowing?"

This time, it was Amren who answered, outright laughing at her suggestion. "You obviously don't understand the threat we face, girl. There is no sneaking into Hybern. Not for a human, let alone a fully trained fae. It would be suicide to even try."

Her hands began to shake under the table, tears springing in her eyes at how helpless her situation was progressively becoming. "But what am I supposed to do? I need to go back home; I have a life! A mother..." She hiccupped, wiping her eyes harshly, "A mother who needs me! I'm all she has!"

Rhysand's eyes only remained pitying, but it wasn't pity she needed. What she needed was a way home. "I'm sorry. For now, the only thing you can do..." he sighed, shaking his head as he looked away from her, "The only thing you can do right now is pray that we win this war."

* * *

She had left shortly after, unable to contain her tears any further into the conversation. Amren had protested, having many more questions, but Rhys let her go. She'd suffered enough, he knew. She'd lost everything she'd ever had in the span of a few hours, trapped in an unfamiliar and awful place, unable to escape. He couldn't blame her for her discovery being too much to handle.

Rhys could relate to that, and couldn't bring himself to make her suffer any further because of it.

"You didn't mention it."

He turned to Amren, meeting her suspicious narrowed eyes. Of course she'd sensed it as well. To think anything less would be an insult to the woman.

"No, I didn't," he replied, "The girl's been through enough."

"Regardless," Amren drawled, "does she truly not know?"

He had almost asked how she knew he had the answer to that, but paused. Amren knew him well, second to his own mate; or rather, knew the side of him he tried relentlessly to shackle within himself. Of course she knew he'd prodded the girl's mind. Something he usually averted doing, but with his mate gone, Hybern in control of the Cauldron… just this once, he'd let his morals slide. He needed to ensure his people were safe. For now.

"She didn't," he lamented, "I made sure. Everything she said was her truth."

Amren didn't need to ask how he knew; understood his usage of his daemati powers. As any normal human, the girl had no mental barriers, no walls from keeping him out. He'd only sifted the surface, unwilling to go as far as to invade the deeper aspects of her mind, but he'd seen everything he needed to confirm her story: _a mother, sickly and smiling, need to get home, falling, drowning, water in her lungs, desperate for escape, someone, anyone, please, help me, this can't be real-_

Rhys' hardened mind from years living in Under the Mountain understood that suffering. Understood her loss, her desperation. He understood better than most, and because of that, wanted to ease her anguish. "She'll remain with us, will be protected here."

"You intend to hide it from her?"

He could've sworn he heard something akin to disapproval in Amren's voice. "No, of course not," he admonished, "When the time is right. Let her mourn."

"We are all suffering," Amren dismissed. He didn't miss her usage of the word _we_ in that sentence, indicating the loss of Feyre and looming threat of Hybern affected her more than she wished to let on. At his raised eyebrow and small smirk, she waved her hand at him. "Come off it."

He allowed himself the chuckle that found its way up his throat. "Yes, we are all suffering. But we also have reason to keep fighting. She," Rhys sighed, "does not."

Amren merely rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be so dramatic. She isn't our problem. Just because you pity her doesn't make her your responsibility," she said evenly, "We don't have time to coddle helpless human girls."

Her words were harsh, he knew, but they were also very true; thus was the reality of Prythian. They were on the brink of war, the threat of Hybern looming over the edge of the mountains that surrounded Velaris. But this girl, human and so very helpless, had no one else to look to for guidance and aid. Rhysand would not abandon another merely because it was convenient. An image of the human girl from Feyre's village, Clare Beddor, flashed through his mind. No, he would not fail again.

"The King of Hybern wanted her for a reason," Rhys instead replied, deflecting the topic Amren was prying open.

She merely snorted at that, "Besides being a weak, pretty little human that would be easy to break?"

"Besides that," Rhys replied, remembering her pale skin, unmarred, delicate and so very human. Yes, a man like the King of Hybern would have enjoyed her thoroughly. Rhys, even with his millennia of experience in the brutality of this world, felt sick at the thought. Perhaps that was why Mor had taken such a fondness for her; she saw a reflection of what she could have been, what she had almost become.

"She's no threat. We'll leave her be," Rhys declared, standing up from his seat.

"I still have questions," Amren replied, clearly irritated.

"And you'll get your answers," he replied, "Eventually."

* * *

She had tried to hold herself together in front of Rhys and Amren. Tried, and failed horrifically. As much as she tried to reign it in, the pain came out like an uproar from her body, the beads of tears falling down one after the other, with no sign of mercifully stopping. She'd quickly excused herself and ran away like the coward she was, unwilling to let those strangers see her cry. She had shuffled down the hallway, briefly recalling the way back to her room, as muffled sobs wracked against her chest. Her lips trembled and shoulders heaved with emotion, unwilling to back down. Servants gave her strange, yet understanding looks as she passed them on her way back to her room, and it only made her feel worse, more desperate to find her little sanctuary, so that she could allow herself to grieve in peace without their strange eyes appraising her.

Fingertips against one of the walls, she found the handle to her room easily enough, wrenching it open and stepping in as quickly as she could. Now in the safety of privacy, she leaned her head against the frame, eyes closed as she freely let her tears cascade down her cheeks.

She had not expected two sets of eyes to be staring at her when she opened her own.

She gave a startled gasp followed by a hiccup when she noticed, frantically using her dress sleeve to wipe at her cheeks. She blinked the briny tears from her bloodshot eyes away, her lashes stuck together in clumps as if she'd been swimming only moments before. And then, it registered. She recognized those faces; beautiful flowing golden brown hair, rich brown eyes. Nesta and Elain.

She had stepped into the wrong room.

"I- I'm so sorry," she gasped, hiccups forcing her to stutter as she found herself at a loss for words, "Oh _god_."

In her defense, their rooms were startlingly close together, and looked the exact same. The only difference in their suites was the doorway that connected to another, likely identical room, probably so the pair could easily access each other. It seemed that right now, however, they were content to remain together, mourn together, grieve together, huddled together on the bed as they used a blanket to shelter each other, as though it were their only defence left, clinging to the other's presence as if it were the only comfort they could draw from this awful situation. God, what Lucy would give for that kind of luxury, to have her mother hold her in her arms like Nesta so delicately held Elain; instead, she was left with no one but herself in this strange, unfamiliar world.

She didn't know why she didn't just run away. She would have done so if it were anyone else. But her burning curiosity of the one who saved her from an early death made her pause, rooting her in place. Yet before she could even debate how she could possibly embarrass herself further, Nesta's voice, cold as ice, cut through the room, "What do you want?"

Lucy couldn't help but lurch at her words, at the hostility that rolled off her in waves. In those short moments, Nesta Archeron was, she decided, almost as terrifying as Amren. _Almost._ "I..." she began. Screw it. Now that she was here, she might as well thank her. "Well, I wanted to thank you."

From the way her eyes narrowed and lip curled in response, Nesta hadn't been expecting gratitude, of all things." _Thank_ me?" she spat, lip curling.

This was not going the way she expected it to.

"Y- Yes," she replied, wringing her hands together, "You saved my life. I was, well... _drowning_ when you saved me."

That seemed to give her savior pause, but it did little to ease the hostility she appeared determined to threaten Lucy's unwelcome presence with. "Drowning."

It wasn't a question, no, much more of a statement. As though she understood, in some way. "I... was drowning in a lake. Trapped in a car. I don't know how, but when you took my hand, you pulled me out of that... _thing_ with you. You saved my life," she gently explained, unwilling to say the word _Cauldron_ in their presence. Even the mention of it caused Nesta to flinch, despite quickly recovering.

There was a short pause between the two, but then, "I didn't do it for you."

She knew the words were meant to be cold, offensive, hostile. Yet Lucy couldn't manage to bring those feeling up, couldn't find the energy to be offended. Instead, she could only let a wry smile overtake her features. "No, I guess you didn't. But still," she said frankly, "thank you."

Nesta only grunted in response, an action she managed to somehow make look elegant, but it was Elain that had her undivided attention; Elain, who looked at her with absolutely no emotion, her expression almost robotic. There was a hollowness in her eyes that Lucy had seen only once before; in her mother when she had become wheelchair-bound. This, she understood, was a woman who had lost _everything,_ entirely helpless and destroyed.

Yes, she understood that feeling all too well.

She felt her own grief crash back into her in waves; seeing her mother in Elain now only a cruel reminder of what she would probably never get to see again. "I..." she cleared her throat, "That's all I wanted to say."

Desperate to leave, to escape, she turned to leave, pausing as her hand gripped the door's handle. "If there's anything I can do..." she glanced over her shoulder, her words directed at Nesta despite her eyes being set on Elain, "Let me know."

With her offer of friendship hanging in the air, she left, disappearing into the hallways to her own room.

* * *

For the first time in her life, she found herself alone.

Now back in the safety of her own guest room, she made her way over to the bed, dragging one foot in front of the other as she collapsed on it in an undignified heap. Back at home she had, by absolutely no means, been a social butterfly, but she'd always had friends, always been surrounded by the pleasant company of people she knew and appreciated. More importantly, she'd had her mother. But now, lying awake in a strange room staring at the canopy, there was nothing. Her mother wasn't here to soothe her fears, nor were her small group of friends here to make her laugh until she cried, momentarily forgetting any worries she may have had. It was just her, alone in a strange place with strange people with, as far as she had been told, no way home. She was completely and utterly alone in her mind, body, soul, and most of all, in this new world. And by _god,_ did it hurt, when that revelation finally, fully, registered to her.

And so, in her solitude, she did the one and only thing she could to release that pain.

She cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And cried.

She cried until she had no tears left to give, until she swore her tears had soaked through the pillow and onto the bed, until her throat became raw from muffling her wails. She cried for her mother, for her friends, for the life she had left behind upon drowning in that lake. She cried for the mistake of ever driving up that mountain, of the one foolish, idiotic mistake that had cost her everything. She cried because she had no one to blame but herself. She cried until the sun crossed over the mountains, until darkness overtook the day's light, until the night's biting cold forced her into a shivering mess. She cried until she had no more energy to do so, and was forced to sleep.

But even then, in the release of her dreams, she mourned.

* * *

 _Even here, she can't escape the memory of drowning._

 _She was standing on water. Not just any body of water, she quickly realized. The lake. She... was standing on it. Not standing in a way that suggested the lake was frozen; no, standing in a way that the water somehow supported her weight, light ripples spurting from her feet as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Instead of the familiar sight of road that should have greeted her at the shoreline, all she saw were a mass of trees, leaves so bright and colorful they looked to have been flourished from spring._

 _She wanted to move, to run from this place, force herself away from her watery deathbed, but found her feet rooted to the spot. Her fingers shake, desperate to claw at the water, yet a fear deep-rooted within her prevents her from even attempting to touch the lake's surface. Her throat constricts, breaths coming out in short panicked gasps, and does the first thing that comes to her._

 _"Help!" She called, barely managing to get the words out, "Someone, please help!"_

 _And then, within the sheltered darkness of beyond the treeline, she sees it._

 _It steps out of the shadows slowly, almost cautiously. A mixture of animals, characteristics melded together to make a beastly_ _horse sized creature with a bear-like body that moved with a feline fluidity. It had a distinctively lupine head, and massive elk-like antlers. Yet regardless of what exactly it was, there was no doubting the danger of its black, dagger-like claws spurting from its paws and yellow fangs that glinted under the sunlight._

 _Yet despite its horrific appearance, despite looking like a creature from a fantasy picture-book designed to horrify children and adults alike, she was not afraid._

 _"Help!" She screamed out, despite being unsure of how such a creature could possibly help her, "Please, I can't move! I'm stuck!"_

 _She swears she sees understanding flash through those animalistic eyes, despite being such a length away, and it steps forward once more, pausing at the edge of the lake. It only stares at her, cautious, appraising, unsure. Deciding. But when she utters out a desperate, final plea, it's decision is made, and it steps into the water._

 _Yet the moment it makes contact, the water's surface below her collapses, and she is submerged, unable to swim to the surface._

 _She screams in shock, which only serves to force her to take a mouthful of water; one would think she had learned from the first time not to do so. She forces her body to move, yet despite trying to push herself up, she only remained falling deeper, deeper, deeper into the watery abyss. In the corner of her eye, she sees it, that beast swimming towards her, but she knows it won't be fast enough. It ducks its head underwater, searching, until its eyes find hers. She opens her mouth to say something, anything, yet the words are swallowed by another mouthful of water, causing a wave of ruthless exhaustion to hit her body. The beast pushes itself towards her, its movements almost desperate. Closer, closer, closer, until she finally musters the strength to lift one of her arms towards it. Her fingers are close enough to grasp onto its fur, to feel once more, but it was too late._

 _Her eyes close, and as her body goes limp, she awakens._

* * *

lots of things happening in this chapter, and lots of hints on what is to come. i hope you all enjoyed! writing elain and nesta is surprisingly hard; same with rhys and amren. i found rhys the most difficult because in the books he's usually very snarky and such, yet i found it would be rather strange to write him as such when he's just lost his mate + cassian and azriel being critically injured, so he's much more... somber for the time being. in the meantime, mor is being the kind soul we know and love, amren wans to deal with the war, and elain and nesta remain in shock. and lucy is just crying lmao. i hope you'll all have a lovely week, or however long it takes for me to update next. a big thank you goes out to those that have reviewed, favourited and followed in the meantime; you guys are the greatest, and it really gets my motivated! in the meantime, i hope you all enjoy!


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